The Youngest Weasley
by Dear Pigfarts. Love the Doctor
Summary: Sometimes we need a change. Ginevra Weasley is sick and tired of being known only as the seventh Weasley child, so she takes her life into her own hands.


**The Youngest Weasley**

 _What am I doing?_

The mirror fogged as the heat of the water created steam, filling the room. The tiles of the bathroom were slick with residue, and the single window was blocking the warm airs only exit. Taking a deep breath, I flung open the window, allowing the steam to pour out into the night sky. I reached for the towel beside the door, roughly drying my shaking body. My breathing was sharp and my eyes were wide as I stared at myself.

 _What have I done?_

The noise of the rest of the house flowed up to me as I wrapped the damp towel around myself. With a few readying breaths I flung open the door and peered out. The landing was empty, _thank Merlin_ , as I made my way out and practically ran for my room. Only a few steps between me and the door, a few steps and I would not have to deal with my family for a few more hours. Just as I opened the door, I heard someone behind me — a gasp. _Oh no_. Spinning around I saw Hermione at the top of the nearest flight of stairs.

"Gin —"

Shaking my head, I slammed my door with a resounding bang and pressed my still-wet body against it. My bottom lip caught between my teeth, I crossed the room and pulled my chair to the door. Hermione was on the other side, her knocks sounding as loud as drums as I used the chair to lock her out.

"Ginny, talk to me!" She called, her voice strained. With all the strength I could put in my voice, I yelled back:

"Go away!" And she did. It was finally quiet, except the thumping beats of my heart as it tried to escape my chest. I slid to the floor beside my door, my eyes unfocused as I stared across the room.

 _What do I do now?_

My mind was racing as I sat, my legs curled against my chest. _Step 1: Get dressed_. With wobbly legs, I crossed the room to my dresser and found some clothes. It took some effort, but I dressed myself and sat on my bed. Seconds passed and I still could not believe what I had done. Finally finding myself in the foetal position, I considered my next move. _Step 2: Tell parents_... But this only brought on another wave of panic, causing my chest to tighten and — no, stop. _Step 2 (revised): Pack for school tomorrow_. I can do that.

I somehow managed to unfold myself and climb from my bed. As I did I heard another knock at the door. This time Hermione's voice was not the one that rang through.

"Ginny? Are you okay? Let me in!" It was Ron.

"Go away, Ron!" I screamed, I did not have enough energy for my brother at the moment, or his best friend. I heard mumbling from behind the door and knew that he was talking to Harry, and probably Hermione (who will have told him... everything). They did not leave as I started collecting various clothes and items I needed for my fifth year, their muttering like an itch in the back if my mind.

I reached out for my tie, which had fallen down the side of my bed, when my hair fell across my face. I stopped. _I can't avoid them forever_. With a few deep breaths I removed the chair from behind the door, and thankfully I had stepped away, because just as I did the door burst open and Ron tumbled into the room.

"Gin!" His eyes were wide as he looked at me, and I could feel two more stares from the doorway as we all just stood there (or in Ron's case; lay sprawled across the floor). _Step 3: Try to explain_. They were staring at me, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

"Ginny..." Hermione breathed, "... What did you do?" I looked between the three of them, trying to find the right words. I needed them to understand, but I could not find a way to say it without hurting my brothers feelings.

"I —" I could not breathe again, and I felt my mouth gaping like a fish as I searched for the words.

 _Why did I do it?_

I softly tugged at the stray strands of my hair. They were drying still, but I did not care that it was damp. What they were all staring at, what had made them gasp was the now deep brown shade of the hair between my fingers. The packet said that the dye would wash out a little more, until it settled, but for now... this was it.

"Everyone sees me as just the latest Weasley... and I'm sick of it!" My eyes stung now, tears were filling them and blurring my vision. Ron clumsily stood up, his face serious and brow furrowed.

"Ginny, you've have completely changed what made you you."

"That's the point! I don't want my hair colour to define me! I want to define myself — to find something that makes me special that isn't being the seventh Weasley child." My breath was coming short and I knew that my voice was carrying down the stairs. Hot tears were now falling down my cheeks and my chest was rising and falling rapidly.

Suddenly there was a crowd at the door, more gasps and a cry from my mother. The rest of the house had made their way up the stairs to see what the commotion was about. My mother was staring at me with her hands pressed to her mouth. She was rapidly turning white and looked like she might have a heart attack. My father stood behind her, his face like a statue. I had no idea what he was thinking, which only made it worse. _Step 4: Apologise._

"I'm sorry, Mum," I breathed softly, wiping away the tears in my eyes. I braced myself for anything she could say as I took the few steps between us, closing the gap. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't do it any more." She slowly took one hand from her face and ran it through my new hair. She had not said a word since she saw it — in fact, no one had said anything at all. The air in the room was thin, as though everyone was waiting for her reaction.

"It looks good on you," she said softly after a few more moments and the whole room seemed to take a breath. A smile slowly broke across my face and I felt like a weight had been taken off my chest. Her arms wrapped around me and I knew in that instant that she understood — she had been just like me when she was growing up.

"Thank you, Mum," I sighed into her vibrant red hair. She squeezed me tighter as she smiled and whispered into my ear:

"Just give us warning next time."

A laugh spread around the room as everyone tried not to stare. They would get used to it, and maybe I would change it back. But at least for now this will be my difference, my conversation piece — or I could pick something else. 'Ginevra the Quidditch genius' or 'Ginevra the Charms wizz', but no longer will I be 'Ginevra the seventh red-haired child'.

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 **A/N: Words - 1,244**

 **Choc Frog - Streeler (Gold)**

 **Continue the Story Challenge**

 **Arithmancy - " _Someone in a highly emotional state..."_**


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